Salazar's Death
by Tansiana
Summary: An old friend remembers how Salazar Slytherin died.
1. Chapter 1: Tansiana

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter...Tansiana is mine, though, as is Majicala...

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Her fingers slid across the four names emblazoned at the top of the first page; four names, four people she had known so well, so long ago…

_Rowena Ravenclaw. Helga Hufflepuff. Godric Gryffindor. _And then the last, the one she'd been closest to: _Salazar Slytherin._

Even after almost a thousand years, the pain was still there, to great to fade. That was the price she paid, for being a Guardian, the price for immortality, for the power she had. Oh, let her colleagues think she paid for it with the obvious disapproval of her elven people; she and the Wing knew differently. They, like no other Guardians before them, paid their price in pain, in grief, when the friends they made, friends close as any family member—friends that _were_ family, through the Clan—passed away. And when they died in the manner that Salazar had…

"It wasn't supposed to end like that," she said abruptly, feeling the tears spring up behind her eyes. Albus Dumbledore looked up from the papers at his desk, but said nothing. Tansiana ignored him, still staring at the book beneath her fingers.

"I could have killed Godric then," she said, reliving the anger and grief that had comprised her feelings, that day a thousand years before. "I would have, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that anyone with half a _brain_ could see that he was hurting as much as the rest of us. More, actually, because it was his own _stupidity_ that killed him."

"Tansiana?" Albus said softly. She laughed, harsh and bitter, feeling the tears come cascading down her cheeks.

"They'd been arguing—well, that was nothing new, hardly a week went by when they weren't arguing about something, even something as silly as their chess game. I—I don't even remember what they were arguing about; Godric told us, after…but I don't remember. Don't want to, really…

"They'd been in Godric's tower; Salazar came storming out and stalked through the castle, paying no attention to anyone around him, and went outside, left…He needed to clear his head, to think without anyone around him…Godric may have been the reckless one, but Salazar's own temper was enough to stop him thinking, sometimes.

"He didn't come in again that night…A week went by without any of us hearing from him, but that was nothing new, either. He could disappear for months on end…usually didn't when there were students, but it had happened before, none of us were really that concerned…"

Part of her wondered how she could stand to tell this tale, with all its pain. Of all the Wing, she had been the one closest to Salazar, understanding his crafty nature better then anyone else could, simply because of what she had been before she had become a Guardian. The rest of her was in too much pain to care. She closed her eyes.

"Godric disappeared at the end of the week, and that we were concerned about, you never knew what would happen when he disappeared. More reckless and belligerent than any red mage I've ever known, even Gil, with his habit of pretending to get drunk and starting tavern brawls…

"Just as we were about to start out to search for him, he staggered in through the castle doors, covered in blood; thank God there were only a couple of seventh years there, any more and there would have been chaos…He looked at us like…like he was dead, himself, and the first thing out of his mouth was 'Salazar's dead.'…"

The memory swam into place before her with a clarity few other memories claimed. Dimly, she was aware that she still sat in the Headmaster's office, that it was the year 1972 and she was talking to Albus Dumbledore; but she was reliving that day in 997, a day of tragedy and pain…

Later, in Rowena's tower, Godric told them everything, in a voice flat and emotionless. Told them how he'd left the castle to deal with a rampaging dragon, despite the fact that they had all told him, loudly and on more than one occasion, that he was getting too old for heroics, that it was time to let someone else take on that role. He hadn't listened.

Salazar had found him before he'd engaged the dragon, had cursed him fifty ways to hell for a fool, and then followed him to the lair, Godric's intentions being in no way abated.

The battle had raged for hours, Salazar casting and recasting shield charms from just outside the battleground in an effort to keep his friend and Clanbrother safe. At last, Godric had felled the beast; he turned to Salazar and laughed, motioning him to join him, then began walking towards the dragon. Salazar was almost to Godric's side when he tripped and fell, suffering from exhaustion; his wand, still in his hand, had struck a particularly sharp rock with enough force to snap it in half. Godric turned to see what was taking Salazar; he saw his friend's eyes widen with fear and surprise, and then Salazar leapt up at him, knocking him out of the way as the dragon, not as dead as it seemed, had tried one last time to defeat his enemy. Salazar had taken the full brunt of the attack and died almost instantly.

"Godric never left the castle again," Tansiana said quietly, emerging from the vision her imagination conjured of the battle. "When he died, the last of the Founders, we cremated him and spread his ashes on the same ground where Salazar had given his life, and then we left, returned to Majicala, not to return until it was time for some of us to walk Hogwarts' halls as students…" Her voice trailed off into silence, and she lifted her head to meet Albus' sympathetic eyes.

"It is widely believed that Salazar left the school after a debate over muggle-borns and their acceptance to the school, and that he later challenged Godric to a duel to the death, which he lost," he said softly.

Tansiana laughed quietly, remembering. "Oh, there were certainly enough of those arguments between the two, especially in the early days of the school, but by the time of his death, arguments over that topic tended to end in laughter. After all, Salazar had accepted a half-elf as his Clansister," she gestured to herself, "it wasn't that hard to convince him that muggle-borns had a place at the school. He never really liked it, but he accepted it. Even at his worst, though, he was never as fanatic about pureblood as Sirius Black's family, for instance.

"As for the rest…" She closed her eyes against the tears that once again threatened to spill. "How do you tell a school full of students and all their parents that one headmaster killed another? I don't know what Rowena and Helga told everyone, but Godric and I never mentioned his death to anyone outside the Clan. There were plenty of rumors flying around, though, and that certainly wasn't the worst of them by any means." She sighed. "After all…those of us who cared the most knew it wasn't true. They were both Clan; they couldn't have killed each other even if they had wanted to."

Albus nodded; there was nothing he could add to that. Tansiana stood still for a few moments, hand resting on the heavy book, before shutting it resolutely and turning to the Headmaster, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Now, on to business. You were saying, about this 'Lord Voldemort'…"

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**So, my first fanfiction story! Slightly revamped, now that I've actually edited it...I know some of this won't make sense...It goes with a chaptered story I've been playing around with writing for...wow, a year now. I'll get to it at some point...probably within the next month or two, although I can't make any promises. This story was inspired after reading Loki Mischeif-Maker's A Sword for Gryffindor...**

**Reviews are always welcome...please drop a note on your way out and give me your impression!**

**Thanks, Tansiana**


	2. Chapter 2: Albus

"It wasn't supposed to end like that."

Albus Dumbledore looked up from the papers strewn across his desk at the voice. Tansiana stood over one of the heavy books lying on a table, her fingers caressing the page. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together, and studied her as her tale unfolded.

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties; no one would ever guess that she'd lived four thousand years or more. It had been only four years since she and the Wing had invaded his office; it had been only three since the Sorting of half of them.

They were a close-knit group; that had been evident within moments. Albus knew that they hadn't told him about even half of the storms they'd weathered together, but just knowing the little they had shared made him immensely privileged.

They were Guardians of Majicala, one and all of them; mortals who had been granted power, immortality, and godhood for various reasons, and they were unique even among that assembly, in that they were the monarchs of their land as well, and frequently left their responsibilities in more capable hands while they traveled from world to world.

Each world had brought them new knowledge, forms of magical power that made them formidable opponents. The culture of a dozen worlds was locked in their minds and shared freely among their people; the responsibility they had accepted in taking posts as Guardians spread even to those who had no ties at all to their homeland. With all they learned, they insisted that the best part of their travels were the people they'd met, the new friends and family…

"More reckless and belligerent than any red mage I've ever known, even Gil, with his habit of pretending to get drunk and starting tavern brawls…"

Albus had to smile slightly at that description of the third-year Gryffindor, even though he was slightly puzzled at the identification of Gilren as a 'red mage.' _No doubt it is yet another type of magic they have mastered; from their homeland of Majicala, I believe. Perhaps one of them will explain that more fully at a later date…_

"We left, returning to Majicala, not to return until it was time for some of us to walk Hogwarts' halls as students…" Tansiana's voice trailed off, leaving the room silent but for the soft whir of Albus' silver knickknacks. She raised her head from the book to meet the headmaster's eyes, her own green eyes dimmed with remembered pain and grief.

"It is widely believed that Salazar left the school after a debate over muggle-borns and their acceptance to the school, and that he later challenged Godric to a duel to the death, which he lost," he offered, hating to bring up more painful memories, but feeling an intense need to knowing the truth. Her laughter, quiet and pain-filled as it was, proved that Salazar's death had not buried the rest of her memories of him. The arguments between Salazar and Godric had obviously brought a great deal of enjoyment to their friends.

"Even at his worst, though, he was never as fanatic about pureblood as Sirius Black's family, for instance." That did surprise Albus, although he didn't show it; after all, so many of the pureblood fanatics felt they carried on Salazar's work—the newest 'Dark Lord', Voldemort, certainly believed so—but if Salazar Slytherin had been as accepting as Tansiana made him seem…

Tansiana's voice grew in pain as she addressed the rumors that had abounded in Hogwarts following the Founder's death, but this time, Albus felt that her pain lay in the mangling of Salazar's reputation. Her last words seemed to confirm that: "After all…those of us who cared the most knew it wasn't true. They were both Clan; they couldn't have killed each other even if they had wanted to."

Ah, yes…the Clan of Majicala. Albus' hand raised automatically to his chest, to touch the warm metal lying against his skin. What he'd felt upon hearing the stories of the Wing was nothing compared to the honor he'd felt when five of the Wing members descended upon his office only a year ago and offered him the chance to join their Clan. The Clan of Majicala was a select group of people sworn to one another, tied with bonds even closer than those of blood. When Tansiana said that Salazar and Godric couldn't have killed one another even if they wanted to, she meant exactly that: the magics that bound the Clan prevented the death of one Clansibling (as the members of the Clan referred to one another) at the hand of another.

So Albus only nodded; he had nothing to add to that statement. His mind was reeling with the revelations his Clansister had presented to him. They remained in silence for a few moments before Tansiana shut the book and turned to him, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her voice, when she spoke again, was the same strong, businesslike tone he'd come to expect from her.

"Now, on to business. You were saying, about this 'Lord Voldemort'…"

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**Well, this brings this story to a close...I was originally intending it to be a one-shot, but then decided to include the same scene from Dumbledore's perspective and hopefully clear up a little confusion about Guardians and the Clan...**

**Still no promises as to when the main story will be up, sorry...**

**Once again, reviews always welcome.**

**Thanks, Tansiana**


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